


Long Nights

by 13atoms (2Atoms)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, M/M, POV The Master (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:54:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Atoms/pseuds/13atoms
Summary: Request: Reader is sleeping and Dhawan!Master can't bring himself to leave her side.
Relationships: The Master (Dhawan)/Reader, The Master (Doctor Who)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	Long Nights

Evenings on his TARDIS had become less and less enticing of late. No longer did he plan an impossibly long list of things to do, places to go, people to bother, each time you were forced to rest your feeble human anatomy.

Now he often caught himself just waiting for you to wait up. Planning things to do to make the most of the seemingly short days you could stay up, running little errands and doing chores so you wouldn’t have to waste your waking hours on them. The Master loathed to admit it, but he _missed you_.

It wasn’t freedom, anymore, for his companion to be asleep.

Rather, it meant boredom.

The Master had a horrible feeling it had something to do with your newly blossoming closeness, the intimate relationship which the two of you had finally jumped feet-first into.

You slept in his bed now, even on the nights when you hadn’t had sex, when The Master had no intention of sleep. Alone, you would still curl up under his previously-neglected sheets, all of your possessions moved into his room. He had created an extra half of his walk-in closet for you (and pinned it on the TARDIS’ sentience, of course) just so you wouldn’t leave to get clothes in the morning.

Not only did your new arrangement suit his possessiveness, but it also suited his constant ache to be _near_ you. It confused him, frustrated him. He had tried to pin it on some hormone shortage, perhaps a piece of psychic trickery, some strange magnetism you had. He had spent days tried to medicalise it, diagnose himself, but this curious sensation had always had a far more simple solution.

He had only come to accept it of late.

_I love you_ , he had whispered to you one night, trying the words out on his tongue.

They felt wrong. Rusty. Switches languages didn’t help. Even in Gallifreyan, the words felt inadequate, like he needed permission to say them.

He’d tried again. Night after night, as he lamented the dreadful inefficiencies of human cognitive processing and circadian rhythms.

“I have no intention of sleeping tonight,” he’d told you, the words tossed over his shoulder as you’d wandered off to his room.

You’d really needed the sleep, and for once he’d been glad to see you head straight to bed after a long day wandering around a ruined city, picking up contraband. He hated how much you made him _afraid_ now, how all his disregard for his own health was met in equal measure with an obsessive need to ensure your safety.

The one body in the universe he cared about, and it wasn’t one he inhabited.

It would drive him crazy sometimes. The fear he wouldn’t protect you just when you needed him, severing your short human life span even earlier than the cruel whims of physiology might.

Shortly after you fell asleep he couldn’t focus on anything else anymore. He stole into his own bedroom, spotting your body under the sheets as he stripped down, pulling on clean boxers before climbing into his side of the bed.

You always left it empty, even in sleep. Just in case.

The Master settled on top of the covers, the lighting in the room just bright enough for his eyes to make out your features. There was hair on your face, unruly from sleep, and he pushed it back from your forehead without a second thought.

You scrunched your nose under his touch, and he smiled wide, before laughing at himself for being such a lovesick idiot. His past selves would be disgusted, he realised. Well, good. Let them be. He was happy.

As his hand fell back to the mattress The Master noticed you moving, your hand seeking his out. He reached out to let you hold his hand, feeling you squeeze him tightly, moving your face slightly as you faced him on the pillow, still in a deep sleep.

The Master smiled, feeling the heat of your palm against his. Even when he tried to pull back a little your fingers tightened, only holding him closer. Refusing to let him leave.

“I love you,” he muttered, the words rushing from his body as though his skin could no longer contain them.

He squeezed your hand back firmly, making you jostle a little in your sleep, your eyes still closed as your head rested on the pillows beside his.

_It felt right_ , he realised numbly. _Those words were right_.

“I love you,” he repeated.

You didn’t stir, but that was okay. He could tell you in the morning.


End file.
